Sherlock and the Teenager
by Jambammer
Summary: Sherlock's problem has gained an attitude in the final round of the game between he and Mycroft.
1. Hello!

A/N: It's still a humour story, I promise!

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><p>It was a bit surreal living in 221A Baker Street, even after six months.<p>

John sighed and carefully sipped his tea. It wasn't that it had been Mrs. Hudson's flat up until she died a few years back – besides, he'd never been overly superstitious, and if anything, any presence that might have been just left a cozy feeling. She'd willed the building to Sherlock, but John found himself acting as more of a landlord than his friend. How had Sherlock managed? Unless, now that John was living there again, he'd simply decided that _he_ didn't have to anymore.

John nodded to himself. Yeah, that was likely it.

He couldn't complain; rent was fair, and he could manage it on his own. It was a decent size, and though he supposed the wallpaper was probably a bit outdated, it had a homey feeling to it.

Molly would've liked it.

God he missed her.

He cast an eye down the hall to his son's bedroom door; closed again. That had become routine. Drew would come home from school, and shut himself in his room, emerging only long enough to barely pick at his food. His eating habits had picked up gradually, but John feared the boy was a bit underweight.

He didn't know how to reach out to his son. Only recently nine, Drew had lost his mother only a little under a year ago and everything had changed after that. Now, with it being only a couple weeks away, he was facing the prospects of his first Christmas without his mum.

John picked up the picture that sat in the center of the table. It was of Molly and Drew, when he was about five. It was shortly before they'd found out she was sick. There'd been a bit of snow that winter, so they'd decided to go sledding. Molly held him tightly while Drew grinned up at the camera.

Drew definitely looked more like him – his eyes, nose, smile – but he had more of Molly's bone structure, and his hair was closer to her colour.

He set the picture back, but facing the other way. He hadn't even wanted any pictures of her up – it was still too soon – but Drew had insisted on keeping this one.

How could he say no?

When he'd told Sherlock of this, he'd been given a quizzical look and an answer of "No?"

But then, sympathy had never been Sherlock's strong point. He was trying, John had to give him credit for that. As he sipped his tea, he could hear the detective pacing the floors above him. Sherlock was giving them space, something he had deemed an appropriate course of action. Some days, John was grateful for that.

Other days, John would give _anything_ to be dragged out on a case.

The doctor's thoughts were broken by a knocking at the main door. Sherlock's pacing didn't stop or even falter in the slightest, so he took it as his cue to answer it.

"Coming, I'm coming," he called, making his way out of his flat and down the hall.

Opening the door, he was greeted by a tall, dark haired teenage girl smiling chipperly despite the cold nipping at her freckle splattered cheeks. Typical of a teenage girl those days; out in the cold without a hat – just a purple hair bow nestled in her short, choppy cut, well that did so much for her ears now didn't it? – and in a skirt of all things. At least she had a coat, she likely wouldn't get hypothermia.

"Yes, can I help you?" He asked politely, but bracing for her to try and sell him something.

"Good evening sir, John Watson, isn't it?" She asked brightly. "I'm looking for Sherlock Holmes."

John blinked. Well, he hadn't quite been expecting that. "Are you a client? Is he expecting you?"

"In a manner of speaking."

"Which means…?"

Her grey-blue eyes sparkled. "I'm afraid I must talk to him before I can say too much to you." She grinned, "It's round three."

It was then that he noticed the black bag sitting beside her. He looked back up at her face. No, no it couldn't be.

"Raven?" He managed to ask.

"Hello, John, it has been a while, hasn't it?" She asked, extending her hand to shake his quickly. She picked up her bag with her other hand. "Do you still have that dog? I don't remember his name… well, time for that later, does Sherlock still live upstairs?"

"I… well…"

"Excellent. Thank you," she stepped inside and carefully unlaced her boots.

"I really don't…"

"Send her up, John. Mycroft's long gone, and I lose by default if she freezes to death outside."

He watched her scurry up the stairs and shook his head. Well, that was one way to end a day, he supposed.


	2. Her Rules

Sherlock Holmes stood at the fireplace, his back to her. An intimidating presence – at least, that's what he was trying to convey to _her. _ Yeah right, _him?_ She'd met a lot of intimidating people throughout her life. Maybe if this had been their first meeting even, but she had memories of him reading to her, and of him holding her hand as they went for a walk.

Hardly intimidating.

She looked around the room. It was strange; she'd been here before, and it had that vague familiarity to it, but she couldn't say she really remembered the flat. Aspects, yes, like the skull on the mantle. She remembered that quite clearly.

"Hello, Raven."

"Hi, Mr. Holmes," her voice failed her and faltered a bit. All right, he was a little intimidating. He looked over his shoulder, and she quickly extended her hand out in front of her. "I know we've met before, but I don't really remember much of it so it doesn't count much as being introduced."

He turned and walked towards her, long precise strides as his eyes looked her over. She was used to this at least. His brother did the same thing, and would know instantly where she had been, and whom she'd been with without her having said a word.

He didn't look much like Mycroft though; he was thinner, for one thing, and his hair was curlier, much like her own though she preferred to keep her own hair straight. His hair was dark, but there were touches of grey, as though he'd left it there intentionally. His eyes were sharper than Mycroft's too, and though he wasn't wearing glasses, she noted a pair on the mantle. Reading glasses, she guessed, Mycroft had reading glasses as well.

Sherlock took her hand in a firm handshake, and even managed a small, if only to be polite, smile. "Sherlock, please. I'm sure my brother makes you refer to him as Mr. Holmes, doesn't he?"

"Well, yeah," Raven nodded.

"I don't wish to be associated with him at all, not even in your head. Sherlock will do." He released her hand and cocked his head to the side. "You're taller than I thought you'd be. Freckles now too," he mused. "You're thirteen, aren't you?"

"Yes," She answered. She didn't feel tall around him. She was at least a full head shorter, a head and a half even. "The freckles showed up when I about six, and they just seem to get brighter every year."

"You attend boarding school."

"Yes, I do."

"Back for the holidays?"

"That's right."

He nodded. "I believe we both know the rules. You're capable of reasoning now, so let's set some ground rules to make this time go as quickly and as painlessly as possible."

"All right," Raven agreed. "Don't go into my room."

"We'll start with- what?"

"The room at the top of the stairs is still unoccupied, right?"

"Yes, of course it is and that's where you'll be staying," Sherlock said quickly, "what did you mean?"

Raven crossed her arms and stared back up. "Well you can't think you're the only one who's going to be setting down ground rules?" "I—"

"Basically stay out of my room, and don't touch my things. This is only my overnight bag," she explained, pointing to the object in question, "Mr. Holmes is sending more of my clothing tomorrow."

"How long does he expect you to be here?" Sherlock asked, noting the size of the bag. It could hold a weeks' worth clothing easily, and it was just her _overnight_ bag?

Raven shrugged her shoulders. "He didn't say, and if I texted him, he wouldn't tell me. I do know that I don't go back to school until after New Years."

"He has gone mad if he thinks he's going to leave you here that long."

Raven shrugged again. "Life's a bit mad. So you're a detective?"

"_Consulting_ detective, yes," he corrected, slumping down into an arm chair.

"So you solve crimes, like the Hardy Boys or Nancy Drew?" She asked eagerly.

Sherlock raised his eyes to her. He'd hardly compare himself to any of that_ drivel_. "With the exception that _I_ actually solve crimes in reality and am not a poorly written, predictable story meant to amuse small minded people."

This didn't deter the grin from her face."Since I'm going to be here and all, can I come along on a case?"

He slipped his phone out of his pocket to type a nasty text to his brother. "Interested in crime, Raven?"

"It's my favourite kind of story. I can always guess the killer," she beamed proudly.

"Well this isn't a story, and the killer can't be determined by ignoring a ridiculous set of red herrings and poorly placed foreshadowing that any moron with even a quarter of a brain could see through. This is reality, and it requires intellect—"

"I'm top of my class."

"Focus—"

"I can focus, really."

"And the ability to _listen_ to _whatever I say_, which you seem to be _lacking." _

"So you'll think about it? Great! I'm gonna go unpack!" She grabbed her bag, and stopped in the doorway. "Oh, and you kind of have to take me with you. You lose automatically if you leave the flat and go anywhere without me. We both know that Mycroft would find out within minutes, even if I'm not the one who tells him. I just thought I'd be polite and ask."

Sherlock listened to her footsteps as she climbed up to her room. They're discuss _his_ rules later, and there would be many.

This was going to be the most interesting round yet.


	3. Running Will Come In Handy

A/N: Happy return of Sherlock!

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><p>Providing nothing went drastically and terrifyingly wrong, Raven knew she'd be at 221b Baker Street for approximately two weeks, leaving with just enough time to get back to school. The thought thrilled her. She often pressed Mr. Holmes for stories of his younger brother the famous detective, but the elder always brushed them off disapprovingly. She wasn't quite sure why.<p>

She pulled a small journal from her bag and set it on the bed. Every detail was going to be logged, and she was going to give a full account of it to the girls back at Edington. The cases of Sherlock Holmes were something of an interest to her group of friends, and the fact that she knew his brother made her rather popular. The fact that she had _lived_ at 221B as a child in the care of _Sherlock Holmes_ added to her popularity. She couldn't say she disliked the attention, but she did wish she could remember more of her time rather than having to make up stories to tell them.

She grinned at the journal. This time, it'd be all truth.

After putting her few articles of clothing away into the dresser, – they filled three of the four drawers. She'd have to text Mycroft to bring another, the closet was likely too small as well - Raven adjusted the plum bow in her hair and skipped back down the stairs.

Now that she'd talked to Sherlock, it was only right to go and talk to John. He'd be a better conversationalist anyways; Sherlock was sitting in his armchair, hands folded so his fingertips touched and his eyes lightly shut. Raven took this as a sign for her to find something else to do with herself. Best to not make a _complete_ nuisance of herself on the first day. She intended to make it to the end of two weeks and fill the journal so full that she had to scrawl on the covers.

Bounding down the stairs and lost in her glee, she almost collided with a boy peering shyly around them.

"Oh!" She exclaimed as the boy backed up. "I'm sorry, I didn't see you."

"It s'okay," he mumbled back, darting his head down so that his unkempt hair covered his eyes.

Raven studied his face. Drawn and worried and lost for words – he was John's son. She extended her hand. "Hello, I'm Raven. Raven Cecelia." Being rather fond of her middle name, she often used it with her first. The boy shook her hand, but didn't say anything back. "Who are you?"

The sound of an opening door interrupted the pair, and the boy withdrew his hand quickly, shoving it into the pocket of his jeans.

"Drew, I'm putting the kettle on if- oh, Raven," John blinked, looking as surprised to see her downstairs as he had when she'd shown up at the door. Drew – so that was the boy's name. He kept his head down and refused to raise it. "I was just saying that I put the kettle on. Would you join us?"

"I'd love to," She accepted gratefully. "Sherlock won't object, will he?"

"Probably, but if he does, he's welcome to join us as well," John replied, waving the two into the flat.

* * *

><p>"So, boarding school?" John asked, sitting across from Raven at the table. Drew sat close to his father and stared intently at the cup in his hands.<p>

She sipped the hot liquid before nodding. "Edington Academy."

"I've never heard of it."

"Most haven't. It's not in England." She frowned. "I'm not entirely sure where it is. It's a long flight though."

"Funny, I wouldn't have thought the government would sponsor an orphan and put them in a boarding school like that," he mused. From the way she spoke, it was certainly an expensive school.

Raven shrugged. "I wasn't at first, but Mycroft said I displayed potential." She flushed. "I mean, Mr. Holmes said I did."

John couldn't help but smile. So, she was on a first names basis with the elder of the Holmes brothers, but she wasn't allowed to be public about that fact. Despite what Sherlock said, John had learned a thing or two over the years about reading people. "You have American friends there?"

"Yes," Raven nodded. "Well, North American. Two are Canadian, but their accents are similar."

"Just as she has a friend of German nationality, and a South African friend, as well as a friend from Sweden," Sherlock declared, entering suddenly into the room. "Though you're not as close to the Swedish one."

Raven seemed surprised, and John couldn't tell if it was over the sudden appearance of Sherlock, or his statement about her friends. "No, no I'm not. How did you…"

"Your pronunciation of words," he answered with a sigh as though he were already bored and regretting coming. "I thought you'd figured that out from the mention of their accents."

John slid a prepared cup of tea to the empty spot at the four person table. "It's an international school then?" He asked as Sherlock took a seat and ignored Sherlock's scoff at his question. He was aware that it was obvious, but there was such a thing as conversation, even if Sherlock didn't believe in it.

"I… I guess so, yes," the teenager replied, and her hand shook when she tried to pick up her cup of tea. She decided against it and instead clutched the handle.

"You guess?" Sherlock quizzed.

"I've never really thought about it much before," Raven admitted, her face flushing somewhat. "It's just always been school. Who pays attention to what's always there, right?"

Even Raven seemed to realize this was the wrong answer to give because she ducked her head down and managed to fill her mouth with tea. John frowned. The girl was eager for Sherlock's approval, though he didn't understand why.

The former army doctor cleared his throat. "So, Raven, have any hobbies? Any sports at school?"

"I'm on the track team," She replied meekly. "I'm good at running."

"That'll come in handy while you're here," John promised.

Sherlock turned to him. "Why would it?"

"Because we always end up running."

"No, we don't."

"Yes, we do. Usually for our lives, I might add."

"He's exaggerating," Sherlock turned to Raven. "Ignore him."

"That's usually what I tell people about him, unless he's talking about a crime scene."

"Really John, I—" Sherlock stopped, interrupted by the sudden giggling coming from the young girl beside him. She covered her mouth, but the noise continued. Sherlock and John exchanged looks before they too lost themselves to laughter. Even Drew cracked a smile.


	4. Bored

A/N: Happy Reichenbach D:

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><p>"Sherlock?"<p>

He didn't answer, so Raven tried again. "Sherlock?"

She huffed and flopped back in the armchair after being met with only silence. Sitting sideways with her legs draped over the armrest, she kicked them aimlessly back and forth a moment. "Sherlock?"

"What?" He finally responded, looking away from the microscope.

"I'm _bored._"

"Don't. Care."

This wasn't how she'd pictured her time with Sherlock Holmes. She'd envisioned adventure, mysteries, crimes. Not stuck in the flat for the fourth straight day with no iPod, no computer, no mobile and nothing but the same dull Christmas specials on TV. Mycroft hadn't sent her electronics for fear of… something, she wasn't sure … and Sherlock refused to let her go out.

_"I'm not losing this time,"_ he'd told her. "_I'm taking no chances."_

Which translated into her being held in captivity. She crossed her arms and sighed. "Can I use your computer?"

"No."

"Why?"

"Because if you were allowed to use a computer, my brother would have sent yours."

"I don't understand why I'm not allowed to use a computer? Or anything at all?"

"There are rules," Sherlock replied, looking back down at the microscopic specimen. "You are undoubtedly aware that I am given something to work on while you stay with me. You have always been instrumental in the conclusion."

That she did know. "And…?"

"_You_ were the key. Not technology."

"Maybe technology will play a part this time? You've got to embrace the future!"

Sherlock laughed, but it was cold and made the girl shiver. "No one has embraced the future more than I, I _assure_ you." He turned the knob on the instrument in front of him, refining the image before his eyes. "Something will turn up. Now shut up and watch telly. Or go play with Drew." He waved her off with his hand. "Isn't that what children do? Play together?"

"Yes, but I'm not a child," she replied snidely. "He is. I don't play with children."

"That's a matter of debate," Sherlock replied sternly, "one I'm too busy to get into at this moment."

The conversation was over from his tone. Raven huffed at her bangs and grabbed the remote from beside her. "Oh look, Doctor Who is on again," she announced over her shoulder. "What a surprise! It's the bloody Christmas one again!"

"Language," Sherlock scolded, and she rolled her eyes. "And you'll have to be more specific. I know from the amount of times John has forced me to sit through it that there are _multiple_ Christmas episodes."

"It's the one with the thing and everybody freaks out until suddenly there's a happy ending and it's Christmas and _God I'm BORED,_" Raven declared, flinging her arm into the air and letting it fall limply where it landed. When no answer met her ears, she turned over in the chair and peered over the armrest. "Can I help with something?"

"No."

"Why? I'm smart!"

"Except for the fact that you don't know when you should shut up."

"Yeah, but from what John's been telling me, I'm not the only one who has that problem."

There was a silence. "Right. You're banned from visiting his flat."

"You can't do that!" Visiting John was the one bit of freedom she did have. He was certainly a better conversationalist than her host.

"Can, and did."

"No you can't! You're not my father."

"For the sake of the next ten days, yes I am."

"I don't have a father because my father's dead." Sherlock looked over to the teenager who now sat on the armrest, staring at him with hard eyes and tightly crossed arms. "I can't remember the man, but I'm not letting you replace him."

"Good." The word slipped out of his mouth before he could stop himself. He could see Raven cocking her head to the side from the corner of his eye. He cursed himself; clearly, Raven _wasn't_ the only one who didn't know when to shut up.

"Good?" She echoed, a smile tugging at her lips. "You don't want to be associated with a father role."

"Obviously."

"So…" She stretched out the word, enjoying her train of thought. "If I were to call you something related to a father, it would bother you, wouldn't it?" Sherlock said nothing, but the girl read into the silence and beamed. "Ah, it would." Raven looked up into nothing, swinging her legs gleefully. "Daddylock."

"Don't."

"But why? This is so entertaining, Daddylock!"

"Raven!"

"You're the one who won't let me on a computer!"

John cleared his throat. For the first time, the arguing two noticed that he was standing in the doorway. "I hate to interrupt, but a letter's just come for you, Sherlock. Not delivered in the normal way either," John continued before Sherlock could dismiss it as boring, holding the mentioned item up for the detective to see. "No, because if something ever happened normally around here I think I'd be worried. This was hand delivered by a man in a suit who didn't say a word. Not one of Mycroft's, I can recognize them."

Raven jumped off the chair. "Oooh, cool! Fin…"

Sherlock stood and pointed his finger at her. "Stay."

"I…"

"_Stay._"

"Yes, Daddylock," she muttered miserably, slinking back down on to the armrest.

The former doctor frowned. "Daddylock?"

"Don't," Sherlock warned, taking the thick envelope from the other man. Holding it up to the light, he studied it.

"Tried that. Only thing visible was an address. Cambridge."

"It's been hand addressed to me," Sherlock noted aloud, studying the writing. "A man, late sixties who was greatly distressed at the time. His penmanship is normally quite neat, but it's shaky here."

Raven gawked appreciatively, trying to soak in every detail. "How did you…"

"Don't get him started, please," John cut her off, looking as though he were fighting a headache at the thought.

Sherlock tore open the envelope and pulled the letter from inside. His eyes scanned over the writing quickly. "Raven, pack an overnight bag. An _actual_ overnight bag," he clarified. "We're going to Cambridge first thing tomorrow, and we may stay a few days."

"Murder?" She asked hopefully.

"No. Potential cheater."

"What?"

"John, I'd like it if you came as well. Raven and I will be driving. I'll text you the address of where we'll be once we arrive there."

"You're driving?" John asked.

"No murder?" Raven whimpered.

"The game is on, and I _will_ win it this time," Sherlock replied, ignoring the girl sulking on the armrest of the chair. "I'm taking no chances for interference. As you well know, you can't always trust a cabbie."

John nodded. "I'll get Drew ready," he said before disappearing back down the stairs.

"A cheater?" Raven asked. "Come on, that sounds boring. I know all about you. You only take cases that are interesting or provide some sort of challenge. An affair…"

"Not that kind of cheater," he assured her with a pleased smile as he sunk into his own thoughts, pressing his fingertips together. "This is the case, Raven. I told you it would turn up." He looked at her sharply. "I told you to pack, did I not?"

"Well, yeah, but…"

"Pack. Now." Somewhat reluctantly, Raven pulled herself in the direction of the stairs. "And only take what you need!" He called after her. "For God's sakes don't bring your entire department store's worth of wardrobe with you! Or your hair salon!"

"Yes, _Daddylock." _The words were followedby a thumping of her stamping up the stairs.

Sherlock looked back at the letter and smiled. Now, the game had begun.


	5. Clever

Sherlock was sure he'd never seen anyone take so long to get ready, and he'd seen John on nights when he had a date. John had set records that weren't ever _meant_ to be broken.

Yet, it seemed as though Raven were _determined_ to break them.

"Raven!" He shouted up the stairs. It was bad enough that she'd taken an absurdly long time in the shower, now she'd been in the guest room for the past half hour. This wasn't counting the forty minutes it took to get her out of bed.

He'd planned to leave an _hour_ ago.

"Raven!"

"I'm just straightening my hair, hold on!"

He made an exasperated noise. "You don't need to straighten your hair!"

"Yes I do!" Her stubborn voice replied.

"It shouldn't take this long!"

"How would you know? And it does too!" He drummed his fingers on the banister, thinking of some sort of threat to fire back. Raven called down again before he could voice it. "We're going to _Cambridge. Cambridge! _I have to look presentable!"

"What for?" Sherlock spat.

He heard her scoff. "The _boys._ What else?"

This was ridiculous. "Raven, if you're not in the car in _five minutes,_ you'll be spending the _entirety_ of our time in Cambridge _locked in the hotel room!"_

* * *

><p>It was amazing what simple persuasion could do. Just under four minutes, and Raven had managed to be in the vehicle, her bag in the back, and <em>miraculously,<em> her hair was completely finished. Topped off with a small red bow even.

"It's only two hours to Cambridge, I don't see why we have to leave so early," Raven sulked, slouched back against the passenger seat with her arms crossed against her chest.

"Seatbelt," he told her, and she grudgingly obeyed. He wouldn't have cared, but this was the game, and the final round; Mycroft wasn't going to make it easy, and he wasn't about to lose for something as trivial as a seatbelt. "We were supposed to be already on our way," he commented, pulling away from the building.

She huffed. "Two hours. Seriously. We could have left after lunch."

"I don't wish to waste _any_ time that could be spent on this case," he replied simply. "You go to school. Not just any school, but a _boarding_ school, _and_ you're on the track team which requires early morning practices. I don't see why this is such an issue for you."

"I'm on _vacation,_" she replied sourly.

"Is that what people do on vacation? Break their sleep cycles?"

"Most people, yes. I've read John's blog; do you even _have_ a sleep cycle?"

Sherlock ignored this. "Are you going to complain the entire way there? I would rather like to get some thinking done."

She had been thinking about it. "Can I put music on? I'll be quiet then."

He finished into his inside pocket and handed her his own iPod without taking his eyes from the road. "It has to be from this. I have no patience for the radio."

It was a compromise of sorts, she supposed. Scrolling through the artists, she mulled over the selection. "Not bad."

"Thank you."

Plugging the cable into the stereo, she pressed play.

Sherlock looked down at the stereo as the music started. "I thought I said no radio."

Raven shrugged. "Not the radio."

"I don't have _this_ on my iPod."

"You do now."

He turned the volume knob down to silence the _noise_ coming through the speakers. "What the _hell_ is that, anyways?"

Raven turned the knob back up, just a _bit_ louder than it had previously been. "Backstreet Boys."

"They aren't even from your era of music!"

"No, they're _classics,_" Raven insisted, scrolling through the new playlist she'd made. "Glad we're still in the city, I can find so many wireless networks. I could make your music selection even _better._"

He turned the volume down. "How'd you find out my password?"

"Guessed. It wasn't hard." Her slim fingers turned the volume back up.

Down went the volume. "Mycroft obviously did whatever it is he does and gave it to you for the purpose of annoying me. You couldn't have _guessed._"

Back up. "I did. Mycroft didn't tell me a thing."

Down it went. "No, you didn't."

Up again. "I did so. I told you I was smart."

Down. "You're not _that_ clever."

Up. "_Thanks._ I am so."

Down. "Obviously not. You enjoy this _drivel."_

Up. "You don't have ovaries, you don't _understand._"

Down. "Raven…"

Up. "You said I could pick music, so I picked, and guess what? I want it thaaaat waaaaaaaaaaaaay," she sang with a wry grin.

There was another way to win this besides arguing. He went to pull the cord out from the stereo, but Raven stopped him.

"I wouldn't do that," she advised, failing to conceal her smirk. "One text to your brother and…"

"You can't."

"Watch me."

"No, you _can't_," Sherlock repeated. "You mentioned the other day that Mycroft wouldn't let you bring your mobile. However, you also mentioned on your first day that you _could_ text him." She swallowed, and Sherlock continued. "So, either you lied yesterday, or you lied when you arrived. Which was it?" Raven was silent. "I thought as much."

"I could find a way to text him," the teenager replied. "Really."

"I don't doubt it." He smirked. "Actually, I _do_. You won't be able to as long as I'm around."

"That sounds like a challenge. Is it?"

"No. It means I want to get this _game_ over with, and you are _not_ going to interfere. Do I make myself clear, or would you rather I repeated it to get through that thick skull of yours?"

Raven crossed her arms once again. "I'm _not _thick. Understood," she replied miserably. "Daddylock," she added for the heck of it.

Sherlock's fingers tightened against the steering wheel and he clenched his teeth. "Fine. You can have your music on the way there if you swear you won't call me that again for the remainder of this time."

Raven shrugged. "Fair enough," she answered happily, turning the volume up higher. "I'm just going to finish my music shopping while we're still in the city."

Even then, Sherlock knew it was a bad deal.


	6. You Have To Impress Her

A/N: Thank you for corrections :D I'm afraid I let my Canadian show a bit sometimes. Please let me know if I slip when it comes to Sherlock/John/Drew/Mycroft/anyone but Raven. Raven has been said to have North American friends, and I want that to be part of her speech. Raven's slips are usually intentional ^_^

* * *

><p>Drew rubbed his eyes and pushed his bedroom door open. "Dad?"<p>

John stopped mid walk to look down the hall. His messy haired and sleepy eyed son stared back at him. "Oh Drew, good… good morning. Sorry, did I wake you?"

The boy shook his head. "What was all that noise?"

"What noise?" Drew pointed his finger up to the roof. "Oh," John nodded, going his eyes a bit of a roll. "That would have been Sherlock and Raven leaving. We'll be leaving in a couple hours, but I wanted to let you sleep."

"They were loud," Drew yawned, stretching out his arms. "Sherlock isn't loud."

"He can be, he forgets that not everyone operates according to _his_ schedule," John gave his head another small shake as Drew sat down at the kitchen table.

"Where are we going?" He asked, watching as his father laid bread out on the table along with the other ingredients already out.

"Cambridge. Sherlock wants our help with something. What, I'm not quite sure. Probably just babysitting Raven. That's all he seems to let me do whenever there's a case and she's around."

Drew watched him carefully with confused eyes, dropping his chin to rest on his hands that were flattened to the table. "So why are you making those?"

"Depending on traffic it can be a bit of a drive, so I thought I'd pack us a lunch."

"But you don't like cucumber."

"No, but you… Don't _you_?" He stopped, looking up at his boy.

Drew shook his head. "I don't like them."

"Then who…" Both eyes caught the picture sitting in the center of the table. "Oh." John sighed and rubbed his temple with one hand. "Right. She did."

The child pushed himself away from the table. "I'll get dressed."

"Drew, I'm sorry, I really…" The sound of a shutting door cut him off.

The day was off to a _brilliant_ start.

* * *

><p>Drew didn't say too much more until they were nearly out of London. He answered questions directed at him with a 'yes,' or 'no,' or whatever was the shortest form of answer he could give.<p>

John really wasn't any better. He asked questions that only required a 'yes,' or 'no,' answer.

"Why is Raven here?"

The small voice caught the former army doctor off guard. "What do you mean?"

Drew shrugged. "You an' Sherlock know her, but I never seen her before."

"It's a bit of a long story. You know who Mycroft is, right?"

His son nodded. "Sherlock's big brother."

"Right. Well, he and Sherlock have some sort of weird competition going on, and Raven…. I think she _is_ the competition. I know it doesn't make a lot of sense," John was trying his best to explain, but it was terribly hard to explain something when he didn't overly understand it _himself. _"They've played twice before this. Once when Raven was a baby, and the second time when she was a couple years old. Only a couple months before you came around," he added.

"Mum met her?"

That hadn't been a question he anticipated, but he nodded. "Yeah, she did."

"Did she like her?"

A smile pulled at John's mouth. "Yeah, she did. We still had Gladstone, then." Oh, brilliant, remind the boy of yet _another_ death that had happened in their family. Terrific day for his parenting skills. He cleared his throat. "Your mum loved Raven. We all did."

Drew nodded, mulling this over. "Would Mum still like her?"

"I think so, yes." John cast a look over to his son. He supposed it was natural that the boy was curious abut his mother, but it was still hard to talk about her. Instead, he changed the focus of the conversation. "Why all the questions about Raven?" The boy shrugged and slouched in his seat. "Drew, you can talk to me, I am your father. Fathers are supposed to… talk. It's just …ah… just what we do."

Not that he seemed to be very good at it lately.

"Just curious I guess."

"Do _you_ like Raven?"

"Like how?"

Drew's tone was a bit defensive; John had to fight back another smile. "I don't know? Like a friend? Or… more. She _is_ a pretty girl."

"Yeah, she's pretty," the boy agreed, but caught himself. "But I want to be her friend. I don't think she wants to be mine."

"Why's that?"

"Because she's smart and pretty and I heard her talking to Sherlock and she thinks I'm a little kid," Drew complained miserably. "I'm not a little kid, Dad."

He would always be to his father, but John nodded. The boy had grown up far too quickly during the time his mother had been sick. "I know, Drew. Look, if she's anything like Sherlock – and so far, she is _very_ much like Sherlock – she'll like you once you impress her somehow. At least, she'll notice you more once you impress her somehow. With people like Sherlock and Raven, you have to earn their respect before they realize that you're even alive."

"How did _you_ impress Sherlock, Dad?"

John gripped the steering wheel. "I uh… I…. I saved his life and … Helped him… catch… a very bad man." Drew's expression read that he knew there was more to the story. "I'll show you the newspaper clippings one day when I manage to find them."

He knew exactly where they were, but Drew wasn't going to see them until he was sixteen _at least_.

"So…. Are Sherlock and his brother playing the game again?" Drew asked after a moment. "Is that why Raven's here?"

"Yes, I believe so," John answered, and this time didn't stop the smirk. "I think there's a third player this time, and I don't think either of them have realized it yet."


	7. Prisoner

A/N: Sorry guys, life and whatnot.

* * *

><p>Raven dropped her bag to the floor at the sight of the room.<p>

"Tell me this is where _you're_ staying."

"This is where _we're_ staying," he clarified, much to the girl's disgust. She wrinkled her nose. "There's a bedroom through there," he pointed towards a door. "You'll be sleeping there."

A little sitting area, one bedroom, one bathroom. "If this is where _we're_ staying, where will _you_ be sleeping?"

Sherlock gestured to the sofa behind him. "If I need to sleep, this will be fine."

This was ridiculous. He had money. His brother had money. They weren't staying there because they couldn't afford anywhere else, she knew that for a fact. Raven threw her arms up in frustration. "Why can't we get…" She stopped mid sentence as it dawned on her, and dropped her limbs in defeat. "You want to monitor me at _all_ times."

"You _are_ brighter than you tend to look," he retorted.

"That includes while I'm sleeping," she continued.

"Or _pretending_ to sleep. I am aware of the adolescent inclination to sneak out, especially when that adolescent is so eager to prove herself."

She shook her head. "That's just perverted, watching me in my sleep."

"I never…"

"Only creepy ass vampires do that."

"Raven, will you—wait, what?"

She cocked her head to the side and placed her hands on her hips. "Then again, you do have the pale skin for it."

"I don't know what you're…"

"Do you sparkle in sunlight?" Raven looked up at him with a curious look, but the smirk tugging at her lips gave her away.

Sherlock drew a deep breath. "And to think, you started off this conversation somewhat intelligently. Are you finished?"

"I'm most definitely a prisoner," she concluded.

"You're being _babysat_," Sherlock corrected.

Raven shot him a sour look. "I prefer the term _prisoner._"

He fought a grin. If the situation were reversed, he'd prefer the term too. "You are welcome to make yourself at home," Sherlock told her, pulling off his scarf. "Unless you'd like to overheat. I realize it's cold outside, but the building is adequately heated," he commented, taking off his coat.

The teenage girl stood dumbfounded in the doorway. "Aren't we going to meet your client? You made it sound so urgent."

"It is urgent. He's coming here. I expect he should be here any moment."

_Perfect._ Just _perfect._ "Great! Am I going to be stuck in this room the entire time? You said you'd only lock me in the hotel room if I wasn't in the car in five minutes, and I didn't take over five minutes!" Forget having an exciting story to tell the girls, they'd never let her live this down.

Sherlock's eyes flicked over her as he mused aloud. "Interesting how you assume it's because of _you_ that he's coming here. Could be typical of your age, I suppose, believing everything to center around you. He's coming here on _his_ request. Now if you're done sulking, shut the door and take off your coat. As I said, our client should be here at any moment."

Raven kicked the door shut and began undoing the black buttons down her coat. Suddenly, his words suck in. "_Our_ client?"

"I did say that you had been instrumental in my previous cases," Sherlock reminded her tiredly. "You said you were clever, so rather than have you run off and do something stupid to prove it, I'm going to give you the opportunity to help with this case." The sooner it was solved, the sooner they could both return to their lives.

"You mean it?" She asked eagerly, momentarily forgetting her self declared status of prisoner.

"Of course I do. Now, _I_ know who our client is, you don't."

"Because you haven't told me. The only thing you said was-"

"_Forget_ anything I said. Based on the letter and where we are now, you should be able to make a conclusion about our client's identity."

This was a test. Alright, she wouldn't fail it. "Okay, we're in Cambridge. The client is someone from the university."

"Cambridge might just be our location."

"It might be, but it's not."

"Why?"

"That would be a bit of…"

No. She was right, but she needed more. He paced the room slowly, his hands folded behind his back. "_Fact_, Raven," he pressed. "_Prove_ from what you've _seen_ that our client is from the university."

"Um. Okay." She sat down on the sofa. "The letter! The letter was Cambridge stationary!"

_Good._ "Which means…"

"That our client is a professor employed there."

"Not a student?"

Raven shook her head. "A student would have emailed you. Our client is someone older… someone… someone probably not very comfortable with technology as the letter was handwritten entirely. No one does that anymore. And the handwriting was nice, like as nice as some of my teachers at Edington, so that means it's someone well educated, so an older professor."

"Could be a parent."

"Why would a parent have stationary from the university?"

He smiled and nodded. "Good."

"What I don't get is why you're taking such a boring case," she said, crossing her arms and slouching back against the sofa. "You said the case involved cheating, and not the affair kind of cheating either. That means the cheating on a test kind of boring."

"Yes, it does."

"So why did you take it? So someone cheated, big deal. It's not…"

"It's not a murder case, correct. However, it doesn't _have_ to be a murder case to be interesting. Sometimes murder cases are the dull ones. That's something you need to learn. "

"You are genuinely interested in this one?"

"Yes, I am."

"Why?"

"Cheaters are boring. They want to ensure they secure a good score on an exam. Perhaps you should be wondering more about the exam they intend to cheat on, and less about the cheater."

Raven straightened up. "The exam?"

A knock at the door interrupted the conversation.

"Ah, and _that_ will be our client!"


	8. The Geneticist

A/N: Anyone aware of the movie_ Hiding_ that just came out? Fun fact: I'm one of the extras, and you can see me in a couple scenes. I just saw it today, so I'm geeking out a bit.

If you know this movie, the clearest scene is where Jo and Lucy are walking down a hallway after school, and Jo tells her that she'll see her back at home. Tall girl with white skin (like _white._ I get told I'm a ghost/vampire) and black hair in the blue shirt, that's me!

* * *

><p>"Come in."<p>

Though she'd never admit it, and despite what all the facts had told her about their client, Raven had silently hoped for a cute young man to be the one to come through the door. Why? She wasn't entirely sure. The wish was a childish one, though if it came true it would have made her story significantly more appealing to some of the older girls on her floor at school.

Naturally, she was a bit disappointed when the client turned out to be a heavyset and balding man in his mid sixties. Not even remotely close to what she had wanted, aside from the fact that he was male. At least he was male. She could embellish the rest of the story a little bit when she returned to school.

Sherlock must have caught her disappointment on her face because he gave her a quick look of disapproval before donning a polite smile for the client. Her heart sank; the last thing she needed was for him to think that she was just like everyone else. That wouldn't do!

She was Raven Cecelia, and she was most certainly _not_ like everyone else.

"Dr Soames," Sherlock greeted the man with a handshake. "Please have a seat."

"Thank you, Mr. Holmes," the man replied, sinking down into the armchair near Raven. There was something she hadn't expected: the American accent that flavoured his voice. "I was quite relieved when I heard that you had agreed to take my case." He extended his hand to Raven. "Hello my dear, you must be his daughter."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "She's not my daughter."

"Really?" The man looked wide eyed from Sherlock to Raven. "Your niece, then?"

"No."

"Surely, you are related?"

"The case, please."

"Yes of course, it's just… I'm a geneticist, as you know, Mr. Holmes. I do a lot of work with families and I must say, there is quite a striking resemblance between you two for two people who are not related."

They did look alike, Raven would agree to that, but she wouldn't have called the resemblance striking; she _wished_ she had those cheekbones.

"Also it's just… if she's not your daughter then – forgive me, child, I don't mean to be rude – why is she here?"

Sherlock clenched his hands tightly behind his back. "She attends a private school, and I've been hired to be something of a tutor for her during her Christmas holiday."

_More like a nanny_, she thought bitterly.

"What school, dear?" The professor asked curiously.

"Edington's," Sherlock answered for her.

The sudden gasp from the man surprised her. "Really?"

Sherlock nodded.

"It's just a school," she shrugged. People taught, people learned. Just like anywhere.

However, Dr. Soames chuckled. "My dear – it's _the_ school!"

Raven blinked. "_The_ school?"

The detective sighed loudly before the other man could answer. "The _case?_"

"Yes, the case. As I said, I am a geneticist. I was a clinical geneticist for a while back in the States. I took up teaching a year or so before I moved here. Mr. Holmes, I trust you know of Baskerville?"

"Yes, I do."

"I don't! What's Baskerville?"

"No matter. Continue please, Dr. Soames."

"I happened to secure a summer internship there for one of my students. Internships at Baskerville are highly sought after," he added, seemingly for Raven's benefit rather than Sherlock's. "To choose my top student, I've turned it into somewhat of a competition. After a month or so, I've managed to narrow it down to my top three students. They were to write the deciding exam tomorrow."

His phrasing caught Raven's attention. "_Were_ to write it tomorrow? They're not anymore?"

He shook his head. "One of them broke into my office and stole a copy of the exam." Sherlock sat down in a chair and pressed his fingers together. "You see, I had the exam open on my computer because I was looking over it a final time. I had to leave my office, and I foolishly left it open."

"Seriously? It takes like two seconds to save and close." Sherlock cast her a stern look. Raven dropped her head. "Sorry."

"You're right my dear, I should have closed it. However, I did take the precaution of having a good friend in the faculty watch my office. He stood right outside the door and didn't hear a thing. I was gone ten, maybe fifteen minutes at most and within that time, the test was stolen."

"How do you know?" Raven hurriedly continued to make herself clear. "It's just, a thief could download it to a memory device and you would never know." Facts, gather facts.

"True. This thief printed the report. For the last month or so, my printer has thought that it's constantly out of ink, and it alerts me with a pop up after printing. That alert was open on my screen when I returned." He chuckled. "Never thought I'd say this, but thank god IT have been taking their time to fix it." Clearing his throat, he leaned forward in the chair. "I have an alternate version of the exam prepared of course, but this is still unacceptable. I don't want to risk sending the cheater to Baskerville."

Sherlock was very still. "In your letter you mentioned that there were footprints?"

The professor nodded. "Wet and muddy, fresh in from the snow."

"There is a window."

"So the…"

"The window was latched. From the _inside._"

Sherlock lifted his head back from his hands. "I see. Return to your office and keep everyone out. Raven and I will be there in about an hour."

Dr. Soames thanked Sherlock, and cast another curious glance between the two before he left.

Raven looked to Sherlock eagerly. "This will be a tricky one, won't it?"

He took out his phone. "If you're referring to how the thief got inside, I would have thought that was obvious."

Obvious? "But…"

"Think, Raven. You're capable of it. There's only one solution."

She was quiet as she thought. "You think he lied about the window being latched?" Raven asked suddenly.

"No. There is a liar in his story, but it's not him." She waited for Sherlock to explain, but he didn't. Instead, he finished the text he was writing, snapped his phone shut, leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. "Now we wait for John and his son. They should be here shortly."

Waiting. Fantastic.


	9. You're Normal

A/n: Sorry guys, I didn't have my computer for the last couple weeks. Finally have it back!

* * *

><p>Raven paced back and forth across the floor while Sherlock remained very still. He hadn't moved since the other man had left. She cast him a dirty look from the corner of her eye. This wasn't how cases were supposed to happen! Where was the action? The chases, the gunfights, the danger?<p>

"It's not all excitement, Raven. It requires patience."

She turned to face him. Sherlock remained with his eyes closed. "It shouldn't require patience! Not this part, anyways. We should be scoping out that man's office, not waiting around for John and his kid!"

Sherlock's eyes didn't open, and his face remained void of expression. "It's better to have an assistant."

Raven huffed. "_I_ could be…"

"Someone who sees the world _differently_. A second opinion or perspective is usually of value, providing that perspective is one that can be trusted."

The teenager mulled this over. "So... John is a trusted perspective?"

"Yes."

"How can I be sure of this?"

Sherlock opened an eye and raised an eyebrow. "I said he-"

"Yes, _you said,_ but how can _I_ be sure?"

Something of a smile ghosted across Sherlock's face but dropped as there was a knock on the door. "That's probably them now. "

Neither moved. The knocking continued. Raven blew her fringe from her eyes. "I'll get it then."

"That is the idea, yes."

She stamped across the room and whipped open the her relief, it was John and his nine year old boy on the other side. "Thank goodness you're here!" She cried, flinging her arms around the former doctor's neck. "Now we can finally go!"

"Oh, uh, hello Raven," John stammered, peeling her off. "Go where?" He nodded to Sherlock. "He's driving you mad, isn't he?"

Raven crossed her arms. "Wasn't that obvious days ago? Now come on!"

"Not so fast," Sherlock said sternly as she ripped her coat from the closet. "I have to give John the details of this case first."

"Can't you just fill him in on the way there?" She asked in exasperation.

Sherlock looked appalled at the thought. "Certainly not. If you're so impatient, you and Drew may wait outside in the hall. _You_ may 'fill him in' on the details."

"This is ridiculous," she grumbled, but lead the younger boy outside, taking care to be sure the door slammed loudly behind her. "This whole thing is completely ridiculous!"

John pointed at the closed door and looked at his friend. "What was that all about?'

The taller man shrugged. "What was what about?"

John scowled. "Giving me all the details of a case beforehand? Since when do you do that? Since when do you even wait for me before going to a crime scene? You always explain when it's convenient for _you._"

"It's a lesson. Raven is much too impatient," he explained. "That is what you do with children, isn't it? Teach them? This school of hers certainly isn't doing the job."

John gaped at him . "You of all people are teaching patience? This is rich."

Sherlock gave him a quizzical look in return. "I'm patient."

"Yeah. Okay. Right." Patient, perhaps, when it was convenient for the detective, just as everything else was. John just shook his head. "So what's this case then?"

* * *

><p>"So what's the case?" Drew asked eagerly once the door had shut. "I want to help!"<p>

Raven leaned sourly against the wall, looking at her feet. "You can't help."

"Yes I can!"

She rolled her eyes. "Fine. A very bad man took a very important piece of paper."

Drew frowned. "I'm not a baby – I'm nine. What's the real case? I know all about all of the others – even the ones Dad thinks I don't. I found his blog."

"It was a test," Raven relented, "A test was stolen. But you know what? You still can't help!" She spat angrily. "Nine is still just a kid. I'm thirteen, and I'm highly intelligent. You're _not._ You're normal. _Normal_ isn't what solves things like this! _Normal_ is useless."

Drew stood with his hands in his coat pockets, processing what she'd just said. He felt as though she'd struck him across the face. "Why're you so mean today?" He finally asked. "You weren't the other days that you've been around."

"Because we're wasting time, and this case is totally lame, but the sooner we solve it, the sooner we can move on to a case that's actually _worth_ solving. Sherlock apparently already knows how the guy got in He probably knows who it was too." She slouched back against the wall. "I thought this break was going to be so cool. I'm just going to look like such a loser when I get back to school," Raven lamented.

The sandy haired boy shifted on his feet. "If Sherlock's already got it solved, why don't you just solve it too?" Raven looked up, suddenly interested. "If he can do it, you can too, right?"

"Of course I can! That's actually brilliant!" She broke into a wide grin, and the boy did the same. Before he knew what was happening, she had her coat on and was halfway down the hallway.

"Where are you going?" He called after her.

"To the scene of the crime!" Raven called back cheerily. "Are you coming?" He hesitated. "Come on, this'll help you prove you're not a kid. Besides, it'll be fun."

_You have to impress her._ "O-okay!"

* * *

><p>"Blimey. Some things don't change, do they? Kids just find new ways to cheat," John shook his head. "You have an idea who it is?"<p>

"In a sense, yes."

John nodded."We'd probably get going before Raven bursts from anticipation." He opened the door and looked out. "Uh Sherlock? Where did you tell them to wait?"

"In the hall; you heard me tell them," Sherlock replied, slipping into his coat.

"That's what I thought."

"Why?"

John opened the door wider for the other man to see. "Well either she's actually burst, or they've both run off."

Sherlock ran to the door. "No!" He hit the door frame with his fist in frustration. "Come on, John! We have to find her. I will not lose!"

John followed after the detective, smiling inwardly. Some things really didn't change.


	10. Dad Voice

A/N: Just to let everyone know, I have an art vlog on youtube now. Username is JabeyAnn. Feel free to leave me comments and questions there, and I'll answer them! I may even draw Sherlock, John, Raven and/or Drew.

* * *

><p>Raven paced around the room. "Of course. How the guy got in here is so clear!"<p>

Drew tried to follow along, but the older girl was looking at everything and commenting it on it and moving on before he could find what she was talking about. It was starting to give him a headache, but at least she couldn't say that he wasn't trying. Because he was trying, trying so very hard, but he didn't dare tell her to slow down.

At least she knew his name. That was a good thing, right?

"We have to find out if one of the three boys suspected plays sports," she told him excitedly, waving her hands about in front of her.

The boy scratched his head. "Why?"

Raven's face fell, and he knew in an instant he'd said the wrong thing. She dropped her hands to her side, her big eyes looking like his dad's did whenever the boy did something he shouldn't have. Disappointment.

Now he understood; he had just proven that he was normal.

The doors burst open revealing a very mad Sherlock, and his worried father following behind. Drew's eyes burned; no, he wouldn't cry. He hadn't cried since Mum… No. He was nine. He wasn't a baby. Babies cried.

He couldn't cry, not in front of _her._

"Raven," Sherlock's voice boomed, and it would have normally made Drew cower, but he couldn't be bothered now. "Back to the hotel. Now."

"But—"

"_Now._"

She crossed her arms and looked about to argue, but when Sherlock's glare didn't waver, she huffed. "Fine. _Daddylock._"

"Drew, go with her. Don't let her go anywhere," John said gently. Drew kind of wished that his father would get mad. Lately he was always sad, or quiet, or just too _nice._ He was never mad anymore, even when he should have been. And considering how he'd just run off, his father should have definitely been mad. But not even a scolding?

He debated disobeying just to get a reaction but instead nodded and went after the girl.

John looked at Sherlock and smirked. "Daddylock?"

"Just… don't," the detective warned. "I've told her to stop but she refuses."

John nodded. "Welcome to being a parent."

Sherlock scowled. "I am _not _her parent."

The shorter man nodded. "Right."

"John—"

"It's just for someone who isn't a parent, you sure have the 'Dad' voice."

Sherlock frowned. "Dad voice? What's that?" John just smiled in reply. "John, this isn't funny."

John cleared his throat. "No, you're right, of course it's not." Sherlock nodded and looked back to the room. "Daddylock."

He was quite sure he should be fearing for his life, but at that moment, it didn't matter; it was worth it.

* * *

><p>"I figured it out, and he won't even give me a chance to explain it!" Raven fumed, keeping her arms crossed across her chest. "I solved it! Sort of. There's still the matter of who actually did it, but I solved it!"<p>

"Explain it to him later?" Drew offered, running to keep up with her. She didn't just think and talk fast, she had to walk fast too, didn't she?

"He'll have the whole case solved by 'later,' and I'll just be shipped off back with Mycroft," she said miserably. "I can't let that happen! I'll be the laughing stock of school, and I won't get…" She stopped, drawing her lower lip into her mouth. "No! I won't let this go wrong!" Raven declared.

"Okay… so what are we going to do?" Drew asked.

She straightened her posture. "_I_ am going to do what I said I was going to do; solve it before Sherlock does."

The boy dropped his head. So this was it; she no longer saw him as useful. Had Sherlock ever done this to his Dad? Because this was surely the worst feeling ever, aside from losing his Mum.

Raven caught the dejected look and sighed. "Okay, but I'm going to need your help too."

Drew lifted his head. "Really?"

She nodded. "Really. Firstly, what I'm going to do is hack into the school's network and see if I can access the grades database. I'd ask the Dr, but he probably would ask Sherlock for clearance first now. After that…"

* * *

><p>"She disturbed the scene, but it still confirms what I initially suspected," Sherlock mused aloud as he and John walked back to the room.<p>

"The window was open, and someone closed it afterwards?" John replied, and the detective nodded.

"I suspect that Raven has come to the same conclusion by now," he stated, dropping his hands into the pockets of his coat; it was older now, but it still served him well. "She may be irritating, but she is quick. Hopefully time will remove her impatient streak."

John snorted. "Just like it's removed yours, right?" He didn't have to look at his friend to know there was a confused look on his face. "Raven's a lot more like you than you like to think. She's impulsive and brash and smart. When you were her age, that was about the time Carl was killed, wasn't it?"

"A bit before," Sherlock replied coldly.

"And you didn't like being told that you were wrong, or that you were just a child. You knew something was wrong, and no one would listen."

"That was an entirely different—"

"No, not really," John continued. "She is a young girl who is working on solving her first big puzzle. And, she's getting to do so with someone she clearly considers a mentor."

"What is your point?"

"You know my point. Go a bit easier on her, Sherlock. She means well."

"If I go easier, she will never learn," he replied, turning the doorknob to the room.

Drew looked up from the papers he was reading. Apart from the boy seated on the couch, the room was empty.

"Hi, Drew, we just—"

"Where is Raven?" Sherlock demanded, stepping in front of the boy's father. The blonde man just shook his head.

Drew pointed to the closed door. "She said she had a headache and needed a nap," he replied seriously. "She said not to bug her or else."

Sherlock knocked on the door. "Raven?"

John sighed. "Sherlock, she's probably upset. You were—" He stopped, seeing the inside of the room as Sherlock swung the door open. "Or, she's gone out the window. That's possible too."


	11. Sweets

Raven hurried down the halls. There was no saying when they'd be back, or when they would discover what she'd done. They _would_ discover it of course – Sherlock would anyhow, provided Drew didn't give her away first. Not that he would on purpose, but with both his Dad and Sherlock questioning him… he was just a kid, he'd cave.

Hopefully she had enough time.

At least she had his _name_ now, her top suspect, thanks to the easily cracked password on John's laptop and the not-as-easy school network.

It was too bad the dormitory listing had been harder to find, but that was where her charm could come in handy.

"Um, excuse me?" She called, making sure she sounded lost as she knocked on the glass door marked 'Administration.' They'd passed it earlier, and she'd noticed that there were people working.

A middle aged man answered. "Yes, can I help you?" He looked confused, probably wasn't used to seeing thirteen year old girls on campus.

"I hope so!" Tears? No, too early for tears. "My parents and I came to pick up my brother to go home for Christmas, only I stopped to look at something and then they were gone and I don't know what building he's in or what his room number is and I don't want them to leave without me and…" Okay, _now_ for tears. Her eyes welled up. "I just want to find them."

He sighed. "Oh dear." Excellent, he'd taken the bait. "Do they have a mobile?"

She shook her head. "They said we were only going to be a few minutes so they left it in the car." Raven gulped down a sob. "If you could just tell me the building and room number, I can find it! There are so many buildings here."

"I'm sure we can look him up, come inside," he beckoned her into the office.

"Oh, thank you sir!"

* * *

><p>"Right, well her footprints seem to lead back to where we just came from," John surmised, leaning out the window. "Think we should go back?"<p>

Sherlock was on his hands and knees, checking under the bed, the dresser, anything that had a space beneath it. "No need, John."

"Why not? And for god's sakes, what are you doing?"

He gave a victorious cry and pulled out a pair of shoes. "These," he said, getting to his feet, "are the shoes that Raven wore to the scene. Very clever, using them. Was that her idea, or yours?" He asked, looking at the boy. "No matter, the fact is that you used them."

John frowned. "What are you talking about?"

Drew stayed very quiet.

"The prints in the snow aren't right to have been made by someone sneaking out the window. They also weren't made by Raven. They were however made by someone wearing Raven's shoes and her shoes being too big for that someone's feet. Am I being clear?"

Drew held his hands behind his back and stared at the floor.

John took another look out the window. If the detective was right, it meant that his son had lied to them. Lied to _him._ "Sherlock, are you sure?"

"It was just another diversion, intended to lead us away and give her more time. It nearly worked." He bent over and stood very close to the boy. "Where did she go?"

"Sherlock, this is ridiculous. Drew wouldn't—"

"She went to solve the mystery!" Drew blurted out.

"And you're helping her," Sherlock replied, and the boy nodded. "If you don't tell me where she went, you're just helping her get into a lot of trouble. You could be helping get her hurt or _worse_. Where did she go?

"I don't know."

"Drew, this is very important," John stepped in.

The boy looked up with wide eyes, and for the first time his father found himself questioning their sincerity. "I really don't know! She looked at something on your computer, and left!"

"My computer? You don't know the password, do you?"

"No."

"Then how did…"

"We are wasting time!" Sherlock cut in. "If we're separated too long, this could be over and Mycroft will win."

"She said Gilchrist," Drew offered. "I don't know what she meant, but that's all she said."

Sherlock straightened up. "She's _wrong."_

* * *

><p>It was almost sickening how easily the man had bought her act. What <em>was<em> sickening was having to play down her intelligence, and how he'd treated her. She wasn't a child, and she wasn't an ordinary one at that. Did Sherlock ever have to play 'normal?' She'd have to ask him. The man had even offered her sweets!

She'd taken those, not to be polite, but because she really couldn't say no to them.

Well, no one really needed to know about that.

Still, playing normal. How degrading.

However, it had gotten her what she needed, and now she was nearly at the door. 508D. The door that held the answers. Well, the suspect anyways. He was behind the door.

She had to play this right, or everything could go very, very wrong. Not just the case, but everything she'd been working for. That wouldn't do, not when she was so close. She hoped she was close, anyhow. The Holmes brothers were so hard to read.

This was it. Outside the door, she took a moment to quicken her breathing and bring back the tears. Back to being normal for a few moments.

"Is someone there?" She called, trying to sound panicky as she banged on the door. "Please, I need help!"

At first it was quiet, and her heart sank. Maybe he wasn't here; maybe this had all been a waste. "Please!" She tried again, and this time someone swore loudly from the other side.

"What?" She was greeted rudely by a tall, blonde young man who clearly didn't appreciate having a young teenager outside his room.

"Do-do you have a mobile I could borrow?" Raven sniffled. "I'm here with my family to pick up my brother but we got separated and I haven't got one of my own and I just need to find them!"

"Christ," he grumbled. "Yeah, whatever, just be fast."

"Thank you!" She replied breathlessly, catching the phone that was tossed to her. "Maybe you know my brother?"

"Just shut up and call your family."

"I'm texting them." Well, she _was_ sending a text. A couple texts, actually. She was also surveying the tiny dorm room. "Gareth Gilchrist? He's on a lot of teams here."

"Yeah, I know him. Didn't know he had a sister."

"Well he does!"

"Poor bastard," the man crossed his arms. "You done yet?"

"Sorry, I'm a slow texter."

He shook his head and leaned against the wall. "You don't look a thing like Gareth."

"I'm adopted," she shrugged. Her eyes settled on the shoes against the wall by his bed. _Bingo._ "You do long jumping?"

"How the hell did…"

She pointed in the direction of the shoes. "I do it too! I recognize your shoes!"

"Oh."

Raven grinned. "Yeah, Miles, long jumping shoes are—"

His head snapped towards her. "What?"

"The shoes, they…"

"No, you said my name."

"Well, yeah," she shrugged again. "You're Miles McLaren, you're a long jumper, and you attempted to cheat on your big exam to get the Baskerville internship. I'm betting that's the test sitting on your table over there." She strolled past the stunned student and picked up the papers. "Oh! It is too!"

"Who told you all this?"

Raven was insulted. "No one. _I_ figured it out."

Miles locked the door.

Maybe she wasn't so clever after all.


	12. Taunts

"I think we have a problem."

Understatement of the year. Raven swallowed the lump in her throat and looked around the room. They were too high up to escape out the window – not to mention the fact she was in a skirt, the window would be a last resort – so that made the door the only other exit. There was, however, a bathroom… If she could bolt for it, she could make it there first and lock herself in before the dimwitted young man knew what happened.

Then again, he wasn't _quite_ so dimwitted… she was, after all, locked in a room with him and effectively trapped.

She also still had his phone in her hands. Text Sherlock, that was an option. Not a fantastic option. It would mean admitting defeat and that she needed his help. Though, he would be useful in this situation.

Her only ways out and she didn't like any of them. How was she supposed to choose?

Miles didn't pick up on her internal debate. "Look kid, I want that internship. I'm certainly not going to let a little girl ruin this for me."

Little girl? Oh, this _little girl_ was _so_ going to bring him down.

"So what're you going to do about it?" She asked plainly, texting without looking at the keyboard. "You can't hurt me, or kill me, my father would be rather cross with you and believe me, you don't want _him_ to come after you. Or my uncle; he's been known to start wars over less. Then there's my father's best friend. He was in the army. He knows some pretty inventive ways to make a man hurt in ways he never imagined."

Actually, she wouldn't put it past John.

"You think I'm dumb enough to believe that?"

"You mean you're dumb enough to _not?_" Send.

"Give me that!" He snatched the phone from her hand. "What the hell is tpp.6-9f?"

Raven shrugged, and was met with a fist connecting with her jaw.

* * *

><p>"Er, Sherlock?" John looked at his phone screen as the detective fished his mobile from his coat pocket. "Did you get the same text that I did?"<p>

"Yes," Sherlock's face went dark.

"What does it mean?"

Drew tried to see the screen as they walked. All he could see were random letters, yet Sherlock looked distraught over it.

This was confirmed when he broke into a run. "Raven's in trouble."

The boy felt his heart beating wildly in his chest. Raven was in trouble? Was it his fault? He'd done just as she'd told him to – he'd even told them Gilchrist instead of McLaren! – but had that gotten her into trouble? Could she be hurt? What if she was hurt? What if she died before he got to say goodbye, just like his Mum?

He couldn't stand that.

Not again.

* * *

><p>"So, you hit <em>little<em> girls, do you?" Taunting her attacker probably wasn't her smartest decision – actually, nothing in the last ten minutes had been particularly intelligent on her part – but she couldn't help herself. The words slipped out of her mouth.

Even when she was on the floor, tasting blood and dazed, she couldn't help but taunt him.

"Oh I can do a lot more than that, little girl," he snarled, grabbing her by the neck and pinning her against the wall.

First instinct; struggle. No, struggling would get her nowhere besides extra bruising on her neck, less air in her lungs and possibly dead. Granted not struggling could do the same, but hopefully it would give her longer. She forced herself to look calm, and to hang limply.

Now would be the perfect time for Sherlock to show up.

"Am I making myself understood?"

"Hard to say, you're cutting off the oxygen supply to my brain, not a lot is clear," he tightened his grip before she could finish her sentence. Right, talking stupid. Why did she keep talking?

"What about now?"

"I'm not scared of you," total lie, but hopefully he bought it, "what do you honestly think is going to happen once you let me go? That I'll just return to my Dad with a bloody lip and bruised neck and say that I tripped and was strangled by a doorknob? I have your name," Raven reminded him. "I have your address. You don't win, no matter what you do now. It's just going to get worse for you the more…" she gasped, his hand choking her windpipe.

Stalling was a skill she obviously needed work on.

Really, Sherlock could show up at _any bloody time._

"If… I…. go missing…" She forced herself to speak, "you think… no one will… notice? My uncle… will start the biggest… manhunt you… have ever seen. You… won't be able… to hide." For the hell of it, she smiled.

For the first time, Miles looked scared. Excellent. He swallowed, but didn't relax his grip. "You're lying, you little bitch."

Keep smiling, it was unnerving him. "You want… to take that… chance?"

Where the _hell_ was Sherlock?

Now he was getting emotional, which could go two ways; he could realize that this was pointless, and let her go and accept his fate, or he would snap and do something rash. She hoped for the former, or that Sherlock would show up before the latter.

"No," he shook his head. "No. You're lying. You're just a kid." His hands trembled.

His grip loosened.

Raven gasped and drew a deep breath that her lungs had been aching for. "I'm not lying. He has access to technology you can only dream about. Finding me will be the government's number one priority."

Miles was shaking his head frantically. The weight of his situation must have been starting to sink in.

Suddenly, both hands were back on her throat, thumbs against her windpipe.

This time, she struggled, and hard. The room was spinning and starting to go dark. Her lungs hurt and she felt lightheaded.

_Where the HELL was Sherlock?_


	13. Boots

A/N: Sorry this took so long guys, I had NaNo and then I've been busy with my webcomic. If you enjoy Supernatural, it's set in that universe and updates Mondays and Thursdays.

haunt. thecomicseries. com.

Also, if you know your cannon, this chapter will answer the question of whether or not they're related. The last chapter/epilogue will be up on Christmas Eve!

* * *

><p>The world was fuzzy, but she felt when the man was pulled away from her and felt as she dropped to the ground.<p>

"Raven?" John was beside her. Air. Air was so lovely. He was saying something else to her, but she couldn't interpret it over the sound of herself coughing. She thought she might have seen Sherlock striking Miles, but the room still spun and she was a bit disorientated.

"John?" She gasped out, trying to focus.

"Raven, are you all right?" She nodded, finally settling her breathing back to something of normality. John had his hands on her neck, but they were gentle, examining. "If you don't bruise, I'll be surprised, but that should be the worst of it."

John helped her to her feet, and Sherlock strode over to her, composed and indifferent. "How did you know it was him?"

"I wasn't sure until I saw his shoes," she admitted, rubbing her neck. She looked in the direction of his shoes, and noticed the unconscious form on the ground. Raven looked back to Sherlock, but he offered no explanation. "Someone… I think… _you_ told me that. Always pay attention to the shoes."

"So I did. Funny you've always remembered that, yet never noticed."

"Noticed what?"

"Those boots were a gift from Mycroft."

Raven looked down at her feet in surprise. "Um. Kind of, I guess. I mean, the government or whatever handles all our clothes and whatnot at the orphanage, but he was the one who brought them to me, yes."

"They're designer. They cost a fair bit more than what the government is willing to spend on a single orphan when a regular pair would do just as well."

The grey eyed girl blinked. "You mean… Mycroft bought them for me?"

"That would be what I'm implying, yes."

"But that would mean…"

John chuckled. "It seems Sherlock's not the only Holmes who's taken a liking to you."

"A liking to me?" Raven furrowed her brow and looked hard at Sherlock. He gave no indication as to whether or not that the statement was true. "But you don't like me."

Sherlock said nothing but looked at his mobile. "Mycroft's car is just outside. Would have been more helpful a few minutes ago, just like him to show up after. I imagine he's already picked up your things from the flat and the room. Come, we need to have a chat with him." He turned his head to glance at the man on the floor. "Miles won't be going anywhere for a while."

Raven shot the doctor a despairing look but followed silently after the consulting detective, the spring quite gone from her step.

"What's going on?" Drew asked, tugging on John's arm as the group walked from the halls.

"I'm not sure, exactly," John replied, "but we'll find out."

John and Drew watched from the doorway as Sherlock and Raven walked to the black automobile waiting.

"Ah, Raven my dear," Mycroft greeted her as she and his brother approached the car. "So nice to see you still in good health."

"Hello My- Mr. Holmes," she answered numbly.

"Get into the car, and I'll just—"

"Not so fast, Mycroft," Sherlock cut him off. Raven looked between the two brothers. Strange how they were so different and so alike. "The case is solved, and by Raven. Therefore, I win this round, and the game ends here."

Mycroft's smile fell for a split second. "Does it now?"

"Yes, and to prevent you from deciding to have a round four, I've decided to keep her."

Raven's eyes darted up from the ground. _Keep her_?

"She's shown promise, promise that you have undoubtedly noticed as well. She'll be better off with me as my protégée than as yours. God knows she'd never survive the office job that you're grooming her for."

"You're going to adopt me?" She asked breathlessly.

"I suppose as you're underage, there would have to be some legal formality and name change involved," Sherlock stated simply, but Raven felt her heart swell. She turned behind her to look at John. Giving her a thumbs up, he smiled back at her. "Have it seen to. Goodnight, Mycroft. Come Raven, let's get dinner."

Raven had to jog to keep up with him. John lingered behind to speak with the elder Holmes, but sent his son to join the two. He watched the Drew chase after then, and chuckled to himself when Raven jumped and hugged Sherlock's neck.

"So she'll be Raven Holmes then?" He asked.

"She already is," Mycroft replied simply.

"She what?"

"She's been Raven Cecelia Holmes since the day I had her name changed after your first encounter with her. Admittedly, I had hoped this day would come sooner, but Sherlock was not ready for her until now."

John nodded, and looked back to the silhouettes fading down the street. "Is she Sherlock's daughter then?"

For the first time, Mycroft looked up from the notebook he was writing in. "You mean of course, by blood. I hardly think that matters now, does it? She is very much his daughter now, wouldn't you say?"

"Yes," John agreed. "Yes, she is."

"If it is of any interest to you, however, her birth name was Cecelia Verner."


	14. And It Goes On

A/N: And here it is. Two and a half years, and this is where it comes to a close.

It's been a wild ride. Thank you to all of those who've stuck with this from the beginning, and those who've joined in along the way. This is such a bittersweet day, but once a character is born, nothing really ends. I've left it like this so you can imagine what you'd like. If you'd like to know details about their lives later on, feel free to message me. I have some things planned out, but I'd rather leave it to you all.

Thank you all, and Merry Christmas.

* * *

><p>"Going out for a bit, Daddylock!" Raven announced, slipping her ear muffs over her head. "The Yard needs help."<p>

Sherlock snorted. "Typical. The new DI refuses to ask me for help, so he goes to you."

Raven pressed a kiss to his cheek. "It's just pride. Don't worry, it's a simple burglary. I've got you on speed dial."

"You won't call."

"I won't have to, but just on the off chance. In case Drew ends up in trouble or something."

"I'm sure it won't_ just_ be him in trouble."

"Bye, Daddylock, don't wait up!"

"Not your father!"

Raven skipped down the stairs, greeted by a blonde boy of fourteen. "Just got your text, I got ready as fast as I could."

"Good, go flag a cab."

Drew nearly crashed into his father on the way out the door. "Sorry Dad!"

John just shook his head and looked to the eighteen year old. "So what are you two up to, then?"

Raven beamed. "Been a robbery."

"Right up your alley."

"Yeah, I'll get to the murders one day."

"I don't doubt it." He chuckled. "You two have certainly had the oddest childhood. You in particular. What was it like?"

"I had everything I ever needed."

"Yes, I suppose, but… were you loved?"

She considered this. "I had everything I ever needed, and many things I didn't need. I received one of the finest educations from anywhere in the world, no doubt, all thanks to both Mycroft and Sherlock. Neither of them are particularly good at truly expressing themselves unless they're extremely upset or extremely excited. Yet, I had both of them doting on me at different points in my life. So yes," she shrugged her shoulders and smiled softly, "I rather think I was."

It was sometimes strange to look at Raven. He remembered singing to her in the sitting area of the upstairs flat when she was only a few months old. Now, at eighteen, she'd grown up pretty. John could see why his son liked her so much.

"Those two have been involved in your life since the start. They raised you into who they wanted you to be, particularly Mycroft."

"Yes, I know."

"Does that bother you?"

Raven thought. "I've thought about what my life would be like if they hadn't," she admitted. "I might have been adopted earlier, had a Mum and Dad, maybe siblings, a high school sweetheart and on the weekends I might have gone to the mall with the girls." She frowned. "Rather dull life it would have been, wouldn't it?"

John had to agree with her there.

"And besides, if I weren't around, who'd keep Drew out of trouble?"

"Who would be getting him into trouble, you mean," John corrected, and Raven grinned in response. "He cares for you, you know. He follows you around like a lost puppy."

"Yes, I know," Raven nodded. "And when he's older, maybe the feeling will be returned. I don't know. The age difference is a bit much still."

"Yes, it is."

"But you know what? He's the only one who's ever properly understood me. I can't explain it, but he just gets me better than any of the girls at Edington ever did."

John nodded and smiled. "Every Holmes needs a Watson I suppose. Probably why Mycroft's so miserable."

The door opened and Drew poked his head inside. "Got one!"

"Coming!" She looked to John. "Don't worry, I'll look after him. I always do."

John followed her to the door and watched the two getting into a cab. He smiled to himself.

They'd end up together. And if they did eventually marry, their names wouldn't change. Raven was far too proud to be a Holmes. The only thing that would change would be Drew's title if he eventually obtained the psychology degree he talked about occasionally.

Always off on another case, Raven Cecelia Holmes and Dr. Andrew John Watson.

John smiled to himself and shut the door of 221b Baker Street.


End file.
